


Ravished: The Night You Can’t Remember (The Night I Can’t Forget)

by KanarandTarkaleanTea



Series: 69 Love Stories [4]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: M/M, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2013-07-26
Packaged: 2017-12-21 09:06:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/898459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KanarandTarkaleanTea/pseuds/KanarandTarkaleanTea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Off-the-rails PWP crackfic written only for my own depraved pleasure (and hopefully a <i>few</i> other people’s pleasure as well :-))</p><p>Clichéd and tropey, and only barely related to the song… This was basically just an excuse to write a sex scene. Parts of this scenario have been done before (and by far better writers than I), but what the heck, can we really travel these roads too many times?<br/>Oh, and flagrant manipulation of reptilian biology.</p><p>Some swearing — And the most horrible crime in the world: smoking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ravished: The Night You Can’t Remember (The Night I Can’t Forget)

  
_Before you left your garrison_  
 _you'd had a drink, maybe two_  
 _You don't remember Paris, hon_  
 _but it remembers you_  
 _It's true, we flew to Paris, dear_  
 _aboard an Army jet_  
 _the night you can't remember_  
 _the night I can't forget_  
 _You said I was terrific, it_  
 _meant zilch to you, ah, but I_  
 _have our marriage certificate_  
 _'n I'll keep it till I die_  
 _You were an Army officer_  
 _and I just a Rockette_  
 _the night you can't remember_  
 _the night I can't forget_  
 _No rose conveyed your sentiments_  
 _not even a petunia_  
 _but you've got vague presentiments_  
 _and I've got little Junior_  
 _You said, Nobody loves me_  
 _and I said, wanna bet?_  
 _the night you can't remember_  
 _the night I can't forget_

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Garak!” 

The Cardassian opened one eye and glanced at the chronometer… 0300. With a heavy sigh, the tailor swung his legs over the side of the bed. 

“C’mon Garak! Open up!” 

Wrapping a black silk robe about his body, the tailor made his way to the door and opened it, only to have a very unsteady human practically fall right in to his stockier frame — a mostly-empty bottle of scotch hanging precariously from loose fingers. 

The human smiled at him lopsidedly. “Hi Gar’k.” Julian hiccupped mid-name. 

“Doctor Bashir,” the Cardassian said icily, valiantly suppressing the smile that was threatening to break through his placid expression. 

The young man pushed past the rudely awoken Cardassian and collapsed onto the couch; his goggles falling even more askance on his head and the bomber jacket threatening to completely engulf his slender frame. “Garak, you should have _seen_ us. We were magnificent. Bloody unb’lievable.” 

“So I take it you and Mr. O’Brien once again vanquished your Germanic foes?” 

“We were ‘ncredible.” 

“And you decided to get drunk.” 

“To Clive!” He lifted the bottle in salute and took a slug. 

Garak took the bottle from him and put it on the table, trying not to laugh at the comical pout that graced the lovely young man’s face. It really was a crime that he remained so beautiful even when he was several sheets to the wind. “And then you decided to wake me up,” the Cardassian concluded. 

The doctor’s drunken expression took on a hungry glint, and it caused Garak’s scales to shiver. “Wanted t’celebrate,” the young man slurred as he got unsteadily to his feet. “Wanted t’celebrate with you.” 

“Is that so?” 

“Mmm-hm.” Bashir was suddenly standing very close. In spite of his best efforts, Garak found himself swaying in unison with his unsteady guest — amber eyes intent and mesmerizing. The tailor felt thoroughly charmed. 

Bashir wrapped his arms around the Cardassian’s neck; the slide of the silk over his neck ridges took his breath away. “Want you, Garak. Wanna fuck you.” 

“My dear doctor.” He couldn’t quite keep the breathy tone out of his voice. 

“Been thinking about it for a long time.” Garak felt one of the doctor’s hands grab his ass and a fiery trail of lips and teeth caressed his ridges. 

_Maintain!_ the tiny part of Garak’s mind that was still rational screamed, but his sex began to emerge in spite of his best efforts. “And you just _assumed_ that you could stumble into my quarters, in the middle of the night, and have your way with me?” 

“Mmm-hm.” And with one hand still massaging his ass, the doctor’s other hand insinuated its way between the hems of Garak’s robe and… _Oh!_

Bashir’s fingers were warm and steady as they squeezed his sex, coaxing the half-erect cock to fully unsheathe and quickly fill completely. It was too much too fast, though, and the change in blood pressure made him dizzy. He bit a grey bottom lip between sharp teeth. 

“’Looks like I mighta been c’rrect in my ‘ssumption, hm?” The young man slurred through a self-satisfied smile. 

“Doctor," Garak began warningly. 

Fingers still stroking the rigid flesh, the doctor led him to the bedroom. “No: Joo-lian. Want you to say my name.” He smiled toothily. “Want you to scream it.” 

Garak sniffed, but found himself thrusting slightly against the young man’s ministrations. “I will do no such thing.” 

“Will soon.” Julian pushed him back onto the bed with surprising strength, the robe splaying out and leaving Garak's muscular physique and impressively endowed erection exposed. The human eyed him lecherously. 

Garak rolled his eyes and partially sat up. “Really, my dear, I am not some holo-slut that will submit to your lust simply because you successfully pretend-fought some historic Earth battle.” 

The doctor looked affronted. “Not just some “Earth battle.” Was the Battle of Britain. Bloody fucking ‘portant battle.” He ran his hands up the insides of the Cardassian’s thighs. “And you’re not “some holo-slut”…” he smiled blithely. “…Just the regular kind.” 

“Hardly,” Garak growled, but couldn’t help the way his hips arched off the bed as Bashir began to stroke him again.

The young man smiled. “Your cock tells a diff’rent story,” he said as he ran his thumb over the head. “…and what a pretty cock it is. Lookit all these patterns.” He traced the spiraling raised ridges from base to tip, sending flames of pleasure up the tailor’s spine. “Bet you feel amazing. Can’t wait to have you inside me. But not tonight. Tonight you’re mine.” With uncoordinated movements, Bashir wiggled out of his aviator jacket, throwing it and his goggles to the far side of the room. “You know, Garak, ev’ry World War II hero needs a lass that he can ravish when he comes home from fighting the Jerries,” he teased. 

The tailor laughed wryly, managing to regroup enough to primly cover himself with the corner of his robe. “Yes, and it seems I remember that, from most of the WWII era literature you’ve subjected me to, that “lasses” usually required a ring before they allowed any “ravishing” to take place. Or at the very least the _promise_ of a wedding before they…”

Bashir rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. “Fine. FINE!” He crawled up onto the bed and kneeled between grey thighs. “Dearest Elim. Your eyes are like th’ Cornwall sky in Springtime. Your skin’s as grey as the bricks of Big Ben. Your hair is like the river Styx by moonlight. You would make me the happiest flying Ace alive if you would be mine. Please, oh please, let me ravish you!” 

Garak seemed to consider, then gave a Cheshire cat smile. _Oh, why not?_ , he thought _It’s not like you haven’t been wanting this for years, anyway._ “Well, when you put it that way…” he spread his legs, and tilted his head back. “Ravish me… flyboy.” 

Bashir eyes lit up, and with ungainly momentum he fell forward onto the Cardassian; teeth knocking, tongue slipping between parted grey lips, and hands tracing ridges and scales with abandon. 

Garak groaned at the sensuous attention. Perhaps he would have preferred their first time to be a little less hurried — and the doctor a little more sober— but he couldn’t deny that the young man was a skilled and enthusiastic lover. With hands that seemed to be everywhere at once, the doctor stroked his chest and hip ridges, tweaked nipples and teased at his erection. The Cardassian ran his fingers through the young man’s hair and breathed in his scent. He had spent innumerable nights fantasizing about the gorgeous CMO; imagining dusky, rose-colored lips pressed to his, the heat of human flesh, the tantalizing length of his unridged cock. Bashir’s mouth traced hot, open-mouthed kisses down his throat; his tongue circled the tear-dropped indentation on his chest, and then licked lower to the ridges on his hips. In spite of his efforts to contain himself, Garak moaned. He attempted to sit up; unused to being on the submissive end of intimate encounters. But when he tried to reach the fastening of Bashir’s pants he was hastily pushed back down. 

“Um, ‘scuse me, I’m ravishing here.” Bashir said with mock severity. 

“You certainly are, my dear. But I would at least like to…”

The doctor fixed him with a silencing stare. “Ravishing!” was all he said before lowering his head to mouth the tip of the Cardassian’s erection. 

And then he began to suck; his tongue pressing intricate designs onto the underside. All the while Bashir’s amber eyes danced with mischievous fire as he watched the tailor unravel. 

Oh goodness, the young man certainly did know how to ravish. 

Garak had delighted in the flesh of a variety of lovers in his day, but as the young human ran his tongue over him, he couldn’t remember a single one being quite so invigorating. Blood thrummed in his ears and he could feel his thighs tensing as the pressure built in the pit of his stomach. He felt Bashir’s hands running over his hips, then lower, between his legs then... _in_ … and… _Oh!_

The mouth around his cock began to slow, then stopped and lifted. “Garak… what’s this?” And the Cardassian gasped and shivered when the doctor wiggled his finger, then grit his teeth when the finger was removed. 

“That would be my…” he panted — every fiber in his being willing the doctor to start his attentions again. “…my preth’sta.” 

“Um. What is a preth’sta?” 

Garak’s blue eyes were almost frantic. “Doctor, can we perhaps have the anatomy lesson later?” 

“But…”

“All you need to know is that I might hurt you if you do not put your finger back immediately.” 

And Bashir’s expression gradually changed from confusion to powerful desire. “What? You mean like this?” He said as he reinserted his finger, stroking the moist hole. A wave of exquisite fire again lit the length of the Cardassian’s body as his preth’sta was explored by the questing digit. It had been years… decades since Garak had allowed anyone to stimulate him in that manner. It wasn’t exactly socially responsible for an unenjoined Cardassian male to engage in this type of thing, but the doctor didn’t need to know that. And quite frankly it felt so good that the tailor didn’t really feel like being responsible at the moment.

“Mm. You’re so wet. You like this, don’t you Elim?” Garak shivered again, and while part of him wanted nothing more than to say something biting to wipe the smugness off of the young man’s face, he found coherent thought to be somewhat difficult at that moment, and instead just nodded. 

“Wanna hear it,” Bashir said as he rubbed his cheek against the length of the Cardassian’s sex. 

“Yes… doctor… I like it…very much.” 

“Say my name.” Bashir’s motions stilled and he sat back onto his heels. Garak watched as the young man unfastened his trousers and pushed the waistband to mid-thigh. He was beautiful, more breathtaking than the tailor had ever seen him; flushed from arousal and basking in an air of confidence that was intoxicating to witness. The Cardassian felt mesmerized as he watched the human begin to stroke his own sex. Then he had to close his eyes as the young man ran the tip around the entrance of his preth’sta. 

Garak arched his back trying to get the doctor to start ravishing him again. “You… infuriating… self-satisfied…mmm…oh yes…” He hated that this arrogant prick could reduce him to inarticulate words and sounds — and loved it at the same time. He blamed his weakness on being woken up in the middle of the night. 

“Say it,” Bashir purred. 

The Cardassian groaned. “Fine! Julian Sabatoi Bashir: if you don’t get on with it already I will break every bone in your weak and feeble human body. I will make you regret the day you ever thought you could tease an agent of the Obsi…”

And the force with which he was entered crushed all the breath out of his body. _Oh Morgund!_ The boy felt amazing. Not since he was at Bamarren had he permitted himself the pleasure of being penetrated, and the electric sensations and overwhelming sense of fullness caused his eyes to roll back in his head. He was only vaguely aware of Bashir draping his legs over his shoulders, of human sweat dripping onto his chest. Instead, his focus was completely centered on the liquid fire that was gathering at the apex of his thighs. He tried to breath, tried to center his mind and calm himself — but to no avail. It felt too good, too right; and he knew he wouldn’t be able to stave off climax for long. 

Bashir continued to pound into him, and Garak felt himself falling — the intense pleasure knocking all sense from his mind and pushing him over the edge.” 

He felt the young man’s fingers encircle his shaft. 

“Julian!” he screamed. 

* * * 

Bashir pulled out a package of Lucky Strike cigarettes, put two in his mouth, lit them, and then handed one to Garak. “That was bloody well fantastic.” 

The Cardassian looked at the Lucky in his hand, _Ah, so we’re still in WWII Britain_ he thought, then shrugged and imitated the motions of his lover, coughing only slightly after the first inhale. 

“Bloody fucking brilliant, even.” Bashir continued, stretching out with a hand behind his head, a thoroughly smug look on his face. “Told you you’d scream my name.” 

The tailor rolled his eyes, but then chuckled. “I only hope that you are so self-assured thirteen months from now.” 

A distinct look of apprehension graced the young man’s face. “Thirteen months?” 

“Yes doctor, when the child arrives.” 

“Child?” Now a definite look of fear settled in the doctor’s eyes. 

“Yes. Our child.” 

The quickness with which the doctor’s eye sobered was impressive. “Garak, what are you talking about?” 

“You inseminated me, my dear. You are my mate. Granted, I never thought I would become pregnant at my age, but you did offer to make me an “honest woman,” if you recall, so at least the child will not have the stigma of being a bastard.” Garak’s smile was sharp as he appraised the discomfited young man in his bed. “You’re actually not a bad catch: I could have done much worse. Plus your medical expertise will no doubt come in handy for what will surely be a high-risk pregnancy.” 

The color drained from Julian’s face. “You’re joking.” It was said as a statement, but the fear still lingered. He extinguished his cigarette. 

Garak extinguished his, too. Shaking his head, he couldn’t help the broad grin that graced his lips. “My dear, you really do take things much too seriously.” 

The Cardassian was taken aback by the ferocity with which Bashir beat him with the thin Starfleet issue pillow. 

“You lying, devious, slithering… I nearly had a heart attack, you know that?” The doctor’s words were punctuated by deep gasping breaths as he continued to pummel his friend. With some effort, the Cardassian was able to wrap his arms around the flailing human and gradually calmed his motions until he could bring the tousled head to his broad grey chest. “Yes, my dear, and you wouldn’t want me any other way.” 

“Humf!” 

“Anyway, at my advanced age, there is really only about a 30% chance I could still conceive, so we probably have nothing to worry about.” 

“Garak!” 

“And my middle name is Raennab.” Bashir looked at him in confusion. Garak continued with a smile. “For the marriage certificate. You did promise. And what kind of lass would I be if I didn’t make you keep your promises.” 

The pillow was once again wielded forcefully as the two sank back into the bed. 

**Author's Note:**

> Not for profit - just playing with the characters. No infringement intended to either Paramount or the Magnetic Fields.
> 
> Usual caveat- not beta'd (sorry!) so all mistakes are mine.
> 
> *So, on Earth, female lizards can take on male traits given certain conditions… males don’t. But come on, we’re talking about a humanoid mammalian/reptilian race here in a sci-fi A/U universe, so perhaps these liberties can be forgiven. Anyway, I had to try and include a _few_ elements of the song… J


End file.
